


Precedent

by mrasaki



Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Schmoop, not dubcon/noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrasaki/pseuds/mrasaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim was drunk. Leonard was most definitely not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precedent

**Author's Note:**

> For a pic prompt at: <http://mrasaki.livejournal.com/46830.html?thread=335854#t335854> \-- to summarize, Chris Pine is dressed up as a priest and somehow confessions is mixed up in there, I don't really recall the logic because my brain had imploded.
> 
>  
> 
> **Also, this fic was written a good while ago, but I'm archiving it here.

Jim was drunk. Leonard was most definitely not.

Jim had attained such glorious heights by sneaking into Leonard’s chambers and helping himself to Leonard’s carefully hidden stash behind the potted plant in the bathroom. Now he was sprawled on Leonard’s bed, talking at Leonard. Leonard was trying to ignore him, having failed massively at ejecting him from his room--said captain, who had apparently very feline abilities at hooking his claws into the closest heavy object within reach, weighing a metric ton, and yowling. “That’s called passive resistance,” Jim said in his best lecturing voice.

“Shut up,” Leonard growled, tapping savagely at his padd on his desk. “I’m _reading_ , which means I’m not listening to you. Not listening to you means, to anyone with two brain cells to rub together and a little kindling, that you should take a massive dose of _shut the fuck up_.”

“Doctor’s orders?”

Leonard debated throwing his padd at Jim. One look at Jim’s grinning, pleased face meant that Jim would love that, because Jim was nothing if not an attention whore. _Leonard’s_ attention whore. Leonard settled back in his chair and paged to the next chapter.

“Whatcha reading?”

Silence.

“You know what I think?”

Silence.

“I think you’re listening to me anyway. Because you’re one of those people who can’t tune _anybody_ out.”

Silence, and some shifting, rustling noises like Jim was just getting comfortable. Shit. When he spoke again, it was as if he was continuing an ongoing conversation in his head.

“Those Starfleet girl uniforms are getting’ scandalous. They keep getting shorter and shorter, like they’re wearing long shirts but forgot their pants. Love ‘em. Uhura was complaining to me today, and I was like, dude, what do you want me to do? You can wear the uniform pants if you want to, and of course she doesn’t want to do that because they’re only tailored for men, but then I got to thinking—”

“Oh, fuck,” Leonard mumbled, “Stars above save us, he’s _thinking_.”

“—how hot would it be if _I_ tried wearing the gogo boots and she was wearing my uniform and—”

“No.”

“No to what, pegging?”

Leonard stared at him, horrified. “What— _no_ , I meant the boots— _god_!”

“I have nice legs, I’ll have you know.”

Whoever had come up with, _May you have an interesting life_ had known what they were talking about. Leonard rubbed his forehead. “Did you drink all my booze?”

Jim rolled over onto his back and gave him a languid, upside-down grin. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Leonard complained, not moving.

“Well, okay. If you want to be that way. So you know what they say about hand size? And foot size?” He made an expansive gesture, sketching an area roughly the size of a beach ball, then paused, blue eyes twinkling at Leonard. “You gonna get over here, or do I need to continue?”

“You’re a manipulative bastard, Jim Kirk, and I refuse to give in to your—”

Jim gave a blurred laugh. “So how big do you think Spock is, huh? Gives new meaning to ‘green-eyed monster,’ doesn’t it?”

Leonard grabbed at the empty bottle Jim had left on his desk and tilted it up to his lips for the dregs. He got nothing, not even a drop. That fucker, this made it the _sixth_ bottle Jim owed him, with absolutely no sign of repayment. “He’s not green-eyed,” he replied despite himself, berating himself for always being drawn into an argument with Jim, who was not only the master of Too Much Information but also of Arguing People to Death.

“Green _one-eyed_ monster, I meant,” Jim snickered, then yelped when Leonard grabbed a large pebble he’d picked up on a Risan beach and slung it at him. “Come on Bones,” Jim wheedled. “I can lay here and talk dirty all day.”

Thing was, Leonard knew it was true. “Jim, I’m not your confessional!”

“So either you can stay sitting over there, totally sober and scowling until your face freezes, or you can come over _here_ and I won’t tell you all about my kinky fantasy being the sexy filling in a Sulu and Chekov sandwich—Ha!”

“Now you’re just going to be insufferable,” Leonard mumbled, yanking his pillow out from under Jim’s back and tucking it under his neck. “So I’m here. Now what?” Jim turned over, but neglected to scoot at the same time, so he wound up mostly draped over Leonard, his cheek flat against Leonard’s breastbone. Bourbon fumes came off him in waves. “You’re bony,” he observed sagely. “Bony Bones.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this shit,” Leonard mumbled, pushing at Jim’s limp, warm weight ineffectually. “And as soon’s I can get up, you’re going on a diet.”

“That doesn’t give me much incentive to let you up then, does it?”

“The human body has exactly 365 pressure points and believe me, I know where they all are, Jim. Don’t fuck with a doctor.”

Jim’s hard forehead pressed up against the line of Leonard’s jaw, Jim’s nose socketed against the soft flesh of his neck, lips nipping at the skin. The immediacy of it struck Leonard then, aware of Jim’s hand, wandering up Leonard’s side, kneading the flesh on the way. The air between them had gone from languid to electric in an instant.

“The holy blue fuck are you doing?” Leonard asked hoarsely.

“I have this fantasy about a certain doctor,” Jim said into his neck, almost casually except for the way his loose sprawl had tensed. His hand continued to travel up the bumps of Leonard’s ribcage, though, and eventually settled on the swell of his chest.

“If this involves us playing ‘doctor’ or you dressing up as a nurse I’m going to hypospray you so hard you’ll be cross-eyed for a week.”

“Shut up, Bones,” Jim said, sounding abruptly deadly serious, and his hand slid up to rub across Leonard’s stubble, although his face remained buried where Leonard couldn’t see him, and something to the quiet of his voice made Leonard go still. “I’m not joking about this.”

“You’re drunk.”

“We could be good together.” Jim lifted his head. His gaze was sharp, clear; it didn’t falter when Leonard repeated helplessly, almost like a litany, “You’re drunk.”

“That’s not a no.” The power of the blue intensified as Jim batted pretty eyelashes at him. “And I already got you in my bed, so…”

“You mean _my_ bed. And I didn’t exactly say yes.”

“Bones, if you were going to say no you would’ve said so already, you predictable old fart.” Jim tucked his head back under Leonard’s chin again, and Leonard let him. “You know I’ll just keep asking.”

“You do that,” Leonard said, glad Jim couldn’t see the smile he couldn’t keep off his face for some stupid reason.

“You’ll cave. I’ve got precedent.”

“I might surprise you.”

Jim didn’t sound worried at all, damn him, and he sounded sleepily satisfied. “Might as well give up now, Bones. I’ve totally got your number.”

"That's what _you_ think, you insufferable child," Leonard grumbled, but he had a sinking feeling Jim was right.


End file.
